Secrets and Lies
by BookLoverDutch
Summary: Take a consulting detective, an adrenalin-addicted war veteran, a young girl with a mission to change their world that they can't know anything about, and a consulting criminal that has recently come back to life... What do you get? Secrets, lies, and things all four of them didn't expect.
1. Doctor Who-like Powers

_Author's Note: Hey guys!_

 _It's been a while, and I'm sorry about that, but as you can see, I've started to write another story! It's about Sherlock. I'm not going to say more than that, you'll have to find out for yourself!_

 _I guess that's all I have to say! Enjoy! :)_

 _PS: If anything I write isn't right or there's an annoying mistake in my grammar (I'm just a human being and I don't know everything :)), feel free to point it out to me and tell me how I can improve!_

* * *

I moved into the flat on December 31st – the very last day of 2012. That was strange, not only because I hadn't even finished school yet and I still lived with my parents, but because it was 2016 where I came from.

Yes, that's right. 2016. You're probably thinking I've got Doctor Who-like powers or something, but I can't travel through time, just through dimensions, and I'm not alone, you've just probably never heard of us. We're called Tale-Changers, and we... well, you've probably already guessed that because of the name, didn't you? We change tales. Obviously.

Anyway, I moved in on December 31st. It was snowing, dirty, wet snow, and I was cold and wet by the time I reached 221 Baker Street. I had a backpack on my shoulders with my laptop and some other important things – the rest of my stuff had arrived a couple of hours earlier. After rubbing my hands to get some feeling back into them, I pulled the key out of my pocket.

I took a deep breath. If I opened that door, I couldn't go back. If I opened that door, I had to finish my mission.

I opened the door.

My boots were dirty, so I wiped them on the door mat so that I wouldn't spread the snow through the hallway, and smiled broadly. I could feel excitement bubble under my calm façade.

I was finally here. After weeks of preparation, weeks of getting into my role – of course I wasn't allowed to use my real name and age and everything here, that was part of the job –, weeks of trying to imagine every single thing that could happen so that I'd know what to do, I was finally here.

I walked towards the door that led to Mrs. Hudson's flat and knocked. Before long, the door was opened, and I was greeted by a voice that I had heard so many times, but just once in real life before; through the phone.

"Hello, dear!"

I smiled as brightly as I felt. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson," I greeted her politely. I took my glove off to shake her hand. "I'm Katherine Jones. Nice to meet you for real."

"Likewise," she replied. "Shall I show you your apartment?"

"That'd be really nice, thank you."

We went down a set of stairs, to the basement. I, of course, already knew where my flat was and what it looked like, but I had to act like I didn't, so when Mrs. Hudson opened the door to show the room, I shouted out: "It's perfect!"

Okay, to be honest, it wasn't perfect, but I had slept in treetops and dungeons and holes in the mud before, so I was grateful that I'd get to stay in a flat this time. Besides, if I did my job well, I wouldn't even be here most of the time.

Mrs. Hudson looked at me – she seemed happy, and a little surprised, that I was so excited.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," I replied. "I've got so much more space than I had back at home. This is amazing!"

That wasn't a lie; I shared a room with my baby brother at home. I didn't mind – he was the sweetest child I could imagine – but sometimes a little more space was more than welcome.

Mrs. Hudson smiled friendly.

"Well, then, make yourself at home, dear," she said, and started to leave, but before she walked out of the door, she seemed to change her mind and turned around again. "Oh, and there is a party upstairs, tonight. I think you can come, too – then you can meet the boys. I'm sure they'll like you."

"Sounds fun," I replied. "I think I'll drop by."

"I surely hope so."

And with that, my landlady closed the door behind her. I leaned against the wall behind me and grinned to myself.

I wanted to scream, jump around the room, do anything to get rid of the feeling that my heart was going to burst out of my chest, but knowing that it wouldn't help and I'd draw a lot of attention to myself, I put my backpack down on the floor, walked towards the nearest cardboard box and opened it.

 _Time to unpack, then, I guess._


	2. Meeting the New Neighbours

Around seven in the evening, when I had found most of my trousers but my shirts were still unfindable, I heard the soft creaking of the front door opening, followed by two voices, speaking inaudible words but still recognisable.

John and Mary. They were going to 221B.

I jumped up, brushed the dust off my trousers, ran out of my flat but then forced myself to walk upstairs slowly, hoping I didn't look too excited; I wasn't supposed to know them. I didn't pause when I reached the door to Sherlock's apartment, knocked without hesitating, and pushed the door open.

For as far as I could see, the flat was empty, but I could still hear John and Mary's voices, so I assumed that they were in the kitchen. They hadn't noticed me yet; apparently they hadn't heard my knocking. Although I knew it wasn't a polite thing to do, I looked around for a bit. I spotted the famous skull, the Cluedo-board on the wall and a well-filled jar labelled "Swear Jar".

Just when my gaze shifted to something nasty in a glass bowl on top of the mantelpiece, I was pulled out of my thoughts by a deep man's voice, coming from my left.

"Evening."

Sherlock walked past me, his robe flapping behind him, and plopped down on the couch. "Are you the new neighbour?"

I wasn't surprised, but it still took me a couple of seconds before I could get a reply out of my mouth.

"Yes, I am," I said. "How did you know?"

Of course I knew how he knew that I was their new neighbour, but I had to act like I didn't know anything about them. And I knew that Sherlock enjoyed bragging about how clever he was.

He shifted on the couch to put his feet on top of the coffee table and lazily gestured to me.

"The knees of your trousers are dusty and a little worn out, implying that you've been crawling on the floor today, which would make sense, seeing as you were probably unpacking boxes. There's also been a lot of noise downstairs for the past couple of hours. And I heard Mrs. Hudson talk to you earlier today. She said more than enough things to make me conclude that you were moving into 221C."

He stood up and walked towards me, holding out his hand. I shook it.

"Katherine Jones, if I remember correctly?"

"That's right."

"I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"Nice to meet you."

A new voice came from behind me, just as English but a little less deep than Sherlock's.

"Sherlock? Who's that?" he asked, sounding not even curious or surprised; he asked it almost conversationally. He obviously hadn't followed the conversation Sherlock and I were having just a couple of seconds ago. "Is that a client? We did tell everyone that we were having a day off this evening, didn't we?"

"This is Katherine Jones." Sherlock introduced me to his best friend before I could do it myself. "She's moving into 221C."

"Oh," John said, putting his glass into his left hand so that we could shake hands. "John Watson. How are you doing?"

"Great," I said, and I meant it. I hoped that my expression showed that as well, because I knew that I tended to seem sarcastic when I didn't mean to.

Fortunately, I didn't have much time to worry about that, because Mary reached over John's shoulder – apparently she had been standing behind him the entire time – to introduce herself as well.

"Mary Watson."

"Katherine."

I knew it was unnecessary to say my name again as she had probably heard it already, but I said it anyway.

"So..." I said, breaking the split second of silence that followed. "Do you all live here? It's a bit small, isn't it?"

My trainer's words echoed in my mind. _Act like you know nothing. Don't lie too much and don't keep too many secrets._

John shook his head.

"No, that's just Sherlock," he replied. "I used to live here, but then Mary and I married, and now we live together. We're just here to celebrate New Year's Eve."

"You should join us," Mary added, smiling warmly. "The more the merrier, right?"

John nodded, agreeing with her but not seeming too excited, and Sherlock, who was standing behind me, didn't even move – I knew that because of the look Mary gave him.

Oh, well. At least they didn't send me away. That had happened before and it wasn't fun. Another Tale-Changer I didn't know too well but who had been one of the people that had been in my group during the training, had had to take over the mission. No one ever mentioned it to me afterwards, but I had felt stupid and useless.

I grinned back at Mary.

"That's really kind of you, thank you," I replied.

Mary clapped her hands, startling me a little.

"That's been arranged, then," she said, sounding just a little too enthusiastic; almost as if she was trying to convince the others that it was indeed a good idea and that it'd be fun. "Do you drink champagne?"


	3. Cats and Bunnies

"Ten... eight... nine... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one!"

I raised my glass, cheering loudly, just like the rest of the people in the pub. We had gone here after about an hour in the flat. We all had gotten a little bored, so we had decided to go and drink something. I had hesitated at first, not being one to drink alcohol, but knowing that I had a mission and that I needed to protect them, I had come – and I was glad that I did. It was crowded here, and hot, but the pub was somehow cosy, in its own way.

I watched as the two men facing me emptied their umpteenth glass. John set it down on the table with a not-so-quiet bang, startling a girl walking by.

"Y'know," he said, clumsily brushing his pepper-and-salt-coloured hair – which was pretty long; he needed a haircut – out of his face while grinning broadly and quite drunkenly, "this might just be the best time I've had all year."

Mary, who, by the way, hadn't had any alcohol, like me, laughed.

"The year's only just begun, darling," she replied.

John seemed to think for a moment. "Oh, yeah," he then remembered. "Happy new year!"

Sherlock nodded, but I wasn't quite sure whether he was agreeing with John or simply starting to fall asleep. I wanted to reply something, but John had already lost his interest in the conversation. He poked his dark-haired friend in the side.

"Sherlock?" he asked rather loudly. "Sherlock!"

He poked him again, and the sleeping man's eyes flew open. "What?"

"I'm going to get another drink – are you coming with me?"

Sherlock looked at him stupidly for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I'm coming with you."

"Good."

The two of them got up, half tripping over each other, and walked towards the bar. I heard Mary chuckle next to me, and, shaking my head, I took a sip of my cola.

I had a feeling that I was going to be sitting there for a loooong time.

* * *

It was a long time, but not as long as I thought it would be, before we were all sitting in a cab. Sherlock had fallen asleep – again – so we were happy that we had convinced him to sit on the left side of the car, so that he could lean against the window – for some unexplainable reason, he had wanted to sit in the middle and had made a big fuss about it. I was sitting between John and Mary, in the middle.

John had been looking at me, seeming to be thinking really hard, for about five minutes now, and I was involuntarily wondering what he was thinking about.

"Y'know," he said to me after another while, "you don't look like a cat at all."

It took me a split second to figure out what he meant.

Katherine. Cat-herine. Very funny.

I laughed, amused. "I don't?"

"Not really."

"Then what _do_ I look like?"

He frowned, thinking again for a moment, before replying: "A bunny."

"A bunny?" I snickered. "Why?"

"Well, you've got the ears for it," he said, reaching out to pull at my ears, which were indeed not very small – at least his drunken mind wasn't playing tricks on him. "Big ears."

"Well, thanks for that," I responded, trying to sound offended, but not really succeeding. I had been called names worse than 'Bunny'. You should have heard what Sam, my roommate when we were still being trained, called me when I accidentally spilled water over one of her notebooks. I'm not going to write it down, because it was very rude, but then again, Sam was never one to watch her language. She was nice, though. I heard the poor girl had been wiped a couple of months ago.

Anyway, my thoughts were wandering off again, and I didn't want that, so I pulled myself back to reality, but when I turned to John, I realised that he had fallen asleep.

* * *

It was a while before we were back at Baker Street. I paid the cabbie, who, luckily, was kind enough to help Mary and me get 'the boys', as Mrs. Hudson called them, upstairs to Sherlock's flat, as we had found it impossible to wake them up, and Mary was feeling too tired herself to go back home, so she had decided that she was staying here for the night. I assured her that it probably wouldn't be an issue.

As soon as we had carried/dragged the two drunk men into the flat, the cabbie left, and Mary caved in on the couch, instantly asleep. I knew that there was no way that I could get John and Sherlock to their bedrooms – especially John, as his was upstairs – on my own, so I didn't have many more options than to drag them onto the fairly soft carpet, get a couple of blankets so that they wouldn't be cold – I also put a blanket over Mary – and leave them like that.

With my hands set in my sides, standing in the doorway, I looked through the room.

 _So much for the first day of a protection mission._

As I quietly closed the door behind me, I felt rather optimistic about all of this. I had been chosen for this mission because the Council thought it'd be really hard; protection missions, I could imagine, were probably really hard if the story wasn't finished yet. The Council thought I'd be able to deal with everything the writers thought up.

If I was completely honest with myself, I questioned the Council's estimation; I had had more difficult first days. For that moment, I felt like it wouldn't be that hard at all.

Boy, I had never been more wrong.


	4. Come Out to Play

I woke up the next morning to a knock on my door, followed by someone calling my name.

"Katherine?"

The voice was thicker than usual, a little hoarser and clearly hungover, but it was unmistakably John's.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice still sounding sleepy, but I was wide awake. I crawled out of my sleeping bag – I had been sleeping on the floor, because my bed was still covered in heavy boxes which I couldn't lift on my own – and started to put my trousers on, so that I wouldn't have to answer the door in my underpants.

There was a moment of silence before John asked: "I'm sorry to have woken you up, but have you seen Mary?"

"Not since yesterday," I said, not even minding that he had woken me up – I ought to have woken up hours ago. "Why, isn't she with you? She was in the flat when I last saw her."

"She isn't there."

"Have you tried calling her?"

"Yes. Her phone's still here."

Now that was a problem. Mary's phone had been in her jacket's pocket; I had seen her grab it multiple times. I didn't think that it was easy to forget it here.

After quickly stepping into my shoes, I zigzagged between the boxes to open the door, but even before I saw John, I heard Sherlock shout something, followed by rapid footsteps down the stairs.

"What?" John yelled back. The other man ran down the stairs, holding a phone – Mary's, if I remembered correctly – in his hand.

"John," he said, sounding a little breathless, "you may want to see this."

He showed whatever was on the phone's screen to his friend, who frowned as he took the phone and read. I couldn't contain my curiosity, so after a moment, I asked: "What is it?"

"It's a text," John muttered, sounding like he wasn't fully focusing on talking.

"Two texts," Sherlock corrected him. John shot him a quick glance. "Whatever."

"Can I read it?" I asked. John nodded and gave me the phone. I felt my face twist into a frown as I read.

 _Girls and boys,_ it said, _come out to play_

 _The moon doth shine as bright as day_

 _Leave your supper, leave your sleep_

 _And come with your playfellows into the street._

The second text began.

 _Come with a whoop, come with a call_

 _Come with a good will or not at all_

 _You find milk, and I'll find flower_

 _And then we'll have pudding in half an hour._

I shivered. This didn't sound good at all, and somehow, I felt like it had something to do with Mary's disappearance.

I gave the phone back to John.

"What does it mean?" I wondered out loud.

Sherlock stepped to the side to peer onto the phone screen, studying the message once again.

"I think," he said, "that someone wants us to come to them in the evening. Look at those two lines – 'The moon doth shine as bright as day' and 'Leave your supper, leave your sleep'."

"Okay, that's clear," John replied. "Anything else? Where do we have to go?"

"I'm sure there's a clue in the sentence with the flower," Sherlock replied. "It isn't supposed to say 'flower', it should be 'flour', and I'm sure it isn't a typo."

I could almost see how his brain was working, trying out different possibilities, trying to figure out which was the right one. He stood there motionlessly for about a half minute before he let his breath out in a soft "Oh."

"Sherlock?" John looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Someone wants us to come to come to Poland Street tonight."

"What?" John seemed confused. "Why would we go to –"

"Milk and Honey," Sherlock simply replied. He started to run back upstairs. "Breakfast?"

"Sherlock –" John protested, but he was cut off by the man he was trying to speak to, who said: "We have to wait until tonight, anyway, John. This is about Mary, I'm certain. We'll find her."

It was quiet for a moment before he added: "So come upstairs and eat breakfast."

John looked at me, seeming almost distraught. "Sometimes," he sighed. "This man..."

He finished neither of the sentences, but I knew exactly what he meant. I grinned sympathetically.

"He doesn't seem like an easy person."

"He isn't. At all." He sighed again. "Well, I think I'll go and eat some breakfast," he then said. "I'm really sorry I woke you up at this hour, but... well..."

"Don't worry about that," I replied. "I'm used to waking up at half past five. I have a baby brother."

"Ah. So... See you later, I guess."

"Yep."

"Bye."

"Bye."

He walked away, and I closed the door, hoping that nobody had noticed that my hair was standing straight upright.


	5. Not Moriarty

It was six in the evening, and we were sitting in a cab, heading to the cocktail bar in Poland Street.

Yes, that's right; I was there. It had cost me a lot of effort and most of my voice, as we had been arguing for at least an hour, but I was there, although the two men on my left didn't seem too happy about it. I didn't care; this seemed quite dangerous, and although they might not have known it, Sherlock and John needed my help. And if I proved my value right now, I could help later on as well. I wasn't sure which of the two reasons was more important to me, which was bad, because I knew I should care more about helping than about proving my value, but I didn't have time to think about that, because the cab stopped and we had to get out.

The cab hadn't even driven out of sight or Mary's phone, in Sherlock's coat, began to ring. He quickly grabbed the phone, turned the speaker on, and answered. "Hello?"

For a moment, there was only a static-like sound, as if there was something wrong with the other person's phone. Then there was a voice, clear and remarkably high-pitched for a man's voice, sending shivers down my spine. He almost sang the words as he spoke.

"We will have pudding in half an hour."

Then the connection was cut off. I looked up to the two men in front of me. John had gone alarmingly pale. Sherlock hadn't, but there was a worried expression on his face that didn't seem to match the way he usually acted. By only looking at their faces, I knew that they had recognised the voice as well.

"Moriarty."

It was Sherlock who first found his voice back. I remained quiet and just nodded – if they had to explain things to me, I was being annoying, and I really couldn't use that right now. Things were still unstable, and if I messed up now, I could only make things worse. I had to focus.

"That doesn't sound good," I said. "We've only got half an hour. What does that 'pudding' thing mean?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Could be a reference to Pudding Lane, could also mean the old word for the organs of a slaughtered animal, or both, or something else."

John made a pained noise in the back of his throat. "If this is indeed about Mary," he then said, his tone firm and even, "we should assume that it's both and get going, or Mary will be bloody pudding in half an hour."

He stepped to the side of the sidewalk and hailed a cab. We were quiet as the short man told the cabbie where we wanted to go and then got in – I think neither of us dared to speak. John seemed to be in that kind of mood where he'd yell at anyone who opened their mouth, and I didn't feel like being yelled at, and Sherlock didn't, either, I think. We remained silent for almost twenty minutes, but when we had reached our destination and were once again standing on the pavement, John spoke again, his arms crossed over his chest and looking up at his taller friend.

"So, now what?" he asked. "You're the genius, figure it out."

Sherlock didn't say anything. Then, surprising myself and the other two, I spoke up, my voice sounding annoyingly small to my own ears.

"I may be wrong," I said quietly, "but maybe this is a trick." I realised that I had to explain it further, and I continued: "Moriarty never said anything about Pudding Lane. Perhaps he just chose that word because he knew that we'd think that we'd have to come here, but really he's just somewhere else."

"And why couldn't you have said that before?" John asked, sounding annoyed.

"Because I may be wrong," I repeated. "I'm not Moriarty; I don't know how he thinks. But if this is really the man who kidnapped Mary, for whatever reason, we need to think like him and think up where you'd go."

"Baker Street."

"Could be too obvious. Think again. Imagine, if you don't find her right now, where would be the worst place to find a body?"

I couldn't believe that those words were rolling out of my mouth, and later I'd realise that I could have said it more carefully, but at that moment, I couldn't help it. I watched as John paled ever further and said: "My house."

"Bingo. I think."

"So what are we going to do now? Seeing as you seem to be the one with a plan."

"I think you two should stay here and search, in case I'm wrong, which I think I am," I replied. "I can go to your house, John, and see if everything is all right. I'll call if I find something, or nothing."

John didn't seem convinced. "Who says that I can trust you?" he asked. I couldn't disagree with his way of thinking; they had known me for hardly a day, and Sherlock had surely deduced that I was a liar and told John about it.

I looked him right in the eyes so that he'd be able to tell if I was telling the truth or not and then honestly replied: "Nobody says that you can trust me. But imagine that I'm right and you don't let me check on your house, or you don't search here. Things will go wrong if we don't split up. And seeing that it's more likely that Moriarty is somewhere here and there's nobody that can take him on their own, you should be the ones to stay here and search here."

I sighed at Sherlock's blank and John's still unconvinced face. "Listen, we don't have much time, and if we argue here for any longer it may be too late." No reaction. I was starting to grow frustrated. "John, give me your address _right now_ ," I said, hoping to have gotten that commanding but not rude tone right. Apparently, I had, because John seemed to snap out of whatever he had been in and took a notebook out of his pocket, scribbled something on a loose piece of paper and gave it to me, along with a key.

"No tricks," he said, and I promised.

Hailing a cab, I realised that Sherlock hadn't said anything for the past couple of minutes. He had just stood there, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face, almost seeming amused. At first, I hadn't known what that expression had meant. Now I realised that I had seen it before.

It meant that he was listening to someone who was saying exactly what was on his mind.


End file.
